


She Learned to Deal with The Devil

by Hors_Doeuvres



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: AU, Angst, Dark, Dark SuperCorp, Evil Lena Luthor, F/F, Harsh Language, Human Kara Danvers, Some Fluff, SuperCorp, Vampire Lena Luthor, karlena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hors_Doeuvres/pseuds/Hors_Doeuvres
Summary: “What would you give in exchange for your life? Money? Power? Fame— ” “Love.” “Love?”Third Dark SuperCorp AU. Trigger warning for murder, suicide, dark/sexual fantasies, rape/non-con, sex kinks, graphic descriptions, violence, and altogether just a whole lot of dark themes.#3 Dark SuperCorp AU. Vampire Lena & Human Kara.This time, a three-shot (three-chapter story).
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 130
Kudos: 509





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. 
> 
> I came up with this story and plot while listening to “Black Magic Woman” by VCTRYS. It will have dark and very adult themes and questionable morality— with a great potential for offense and triggering. 
> 
> So please leave your conscience at the door and enter at your own risk. 
> 
> Third dark SuperCorp AU.
> 
> Trigger warning and general warning for murder, suicide, angst, dark/sexual fantasies, sex, graphic descriptions, violence, and altogether just a whole lot of dark themes.
> 
> This is written from Kara Danvers’ POV.
> 
> — just going to add this quick shout-out to LavenderMandarin who left such lovely reviews of my other Dark SuperCorp works. Very much appreciated, darling. —

**_She Learned to Deal with The Devil_ **

—

The first time I met her—

I was young.

I was foolish.

I was kidnapped.

Downside of having a prominent politician for a father? 

The money and reputation always enticed bad people with bad plans. 

—

I was thirteen.

I was supposed to be picked up from school by a driver that my father had sent, but apparently, the man had been intercepted, and a complete stranger picked me up instead. He had explained to me how my father was running late with a meeting with the governor, and I didn’t feel the need to question him further.

Father running late was usual. Father sending a random driver to pick me up was usual too. 

It took awhile for me to figure out that something was wrong. That the streets were starting to look unfamiliar. By the time that happened, it was too late.

The car I was in stopped at a gas station and as I was trying to talk to the driver, a masked man suddenly opened the car door next to me and slid in. He pushed me to give himself space to sit and roughly pressed a gun to my side. 

“Keep quiet or I’ll blow all your organs out,” he hissed at me, stopping the scream at the back of my throat.

I was terrified. 

So much so, that I did as he asked. I stayed quiet, my heart racing wildly in my chest. 

— 

By the time we reached our destination, I felt like my chest was ready to bust open. My hands were sweaty and clammy and my knees were shaking even though I was sitting down. 

“Move,” the man next to me ordered. Forcing myself to do as he commanded, I slid towards the door and carefully pushed it open.

“Faster,” he growled, following me. 

I forcibly stamped down the sob that wanted to escape my lips and blinked back the tears in my eyes. 

I moved faster. Jumped out of the car and looked up at the small house we had just pulled up to. It was squat and square, painted an ugly shade of cream with a droopy red roof. My eyes darted around, trying to take in and remember as much as I could. 

The driver got out of the car, and he had put a mask on. It didn’t matter. I already knew his face. 

Which scared me even more. 

I knew a face. His face. 

He grabbed my shoulder and started roughly shoving me towards the house.

—

I had been thrown into a small room, so hard that my head hit the wall with a loud  _ smack.  _ I reached up and carefully touched the tender spot before quickly looking around. The room looked like a pantry. The shelves were almost empty, just a couple of cans of beans, pasta boxes, and packs of instant noodles. There was a thin pillow and a threadbare blanket on the floor. 

“Enjoy our amenities, spoiled brat,” the driver barked as he closed and then locked the door behind me. 

When he was gone, and I was alone— I finally cried. As quietly as I could. I sat on the pillow and pulled the blanket up to my face, burying my tears into the scratchy cloth as my head throbbed from the pain of the earlier impact. 

—

I was woken by the sound of loud screaming and banging. Like people were hitting their fists against walls. I stood up in a hurry, clutching the blanket to my chest. 

Suddenly, the door to the room swung open. A man I didn’t recognize was on the other side, his eyes were wide, wild. And he quickly pulled me out of the room. 

_ “Run!”  _ he ordered, pushing me down the hallway. 

I stumbled. My legs were shaking and my head was still hurting from earlier. I could not run, couldn’t even walk. I fell to the ground, and the man pushing me tripped over my waist.

“Fuck,” he snapped, kicking me as he scrambled to get up. 

I grabbed where he hit me and groaned in pain. _ What was going on? What’s happening?  _

I laid on my back and looked up and—  _ what was that?  _

My eyes widened in shock. Was I dreaming? Hallucinating? That was hair. Long, dark hair falling from above. Something—  _ someone  _ was walking on the ceiling?!

I gasped. And suddenly the figure moved faster, it twisted in the middle of the air and it landed right next to the man on the floor. 

It was a woman. 

Pale skin, glowing green eyes, red lips. She lifted her foot and smashed it down on the man’s throat. His screaming turned into a soft gurgle. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even blink. 

“And here I thought I was just going to have a few snacks,” she then said, red lips curling into a smug smirk. “But apparently, I have crashed into a whole nest of snakes.” She twisted her foot and a loud  _ crack  _ sounded.

I flinched. 

The woman then leaned down, grabbed the man by the shoulder and effortlessly lifted him up. It was like watching a trainwreck, impossible to look away. With deadly grace, she suddenly leaned forward and clamped her jaws around the man’s neck. 

Sharp fangs sunk into the man’s neck and then— 

She was— 

Was she—

_ Drinking his blood?  _

I vomited, the bile quickly rising up from my stomach. 

_ — _

The man’s body dropped to the ground unceremoniously. The woman remained clean, impeccable. She licked her lips and then directed her attention back to me. 

“Hmm,” she said, “what do we have here? A little girl locked in a tiny room in a small house filled with strange men. How… awful.”

She paused and strode forward until she was standing over me. “You’d be the perfect dessert.” Her voice was smooth like glass, with a foreign lilt. 

I wanted to get away from her. To move. But I couldn’t. She wasn’t physically pinning me down, but her gaze— her aura. She was hypnotic, and the pain in my body lessened into a dull ache.

“Vampire,” I then said, having seen Twilight and enough B-rated horror movies to know or at least assume what kind of creature she was. 

She arched an amused brow. “What ever gave you that idea?” She asked, holding out her arms, as if to present herself. “Was it the fangs? The walking on the ceiling? The blood drinking? Or… The ironic shirt?”

At her words, I looked at the print on her shirt and saw,  **_‘You know what sucks? Vampires.’_ **

Unbidden, a laugh escaped my lips. I was definitely dreaming. This was too much. Too, too much. 

“Please let me go,” I finally said, after a moment. “Please. Please let me go.” 

The woman tilted her head, as if considering it. “And what will I get in return? What would be worth giving you up? A sweet,  _ sweet _ source of young blood?” 

I blinked. “My family has money,” I quickly answered. There. That’s what people always wanted. 

She shrugged. “So do I.”

I felt my chest tighten. I needed to come up with something. Anything. “Worship? I could worship you?” Vampires were pretty vain. They liked attention. They’d probably be stationed in front of a mirror if they could see their reflection.

She laughed. A harsh, sharp sound. “That would probably work on my brother, but no. I have no need for a follower.” 

A beat. A strong thrumming in my chest. My heart was drumming loud. Finally, I said, “love?” Blood from the heart, love from the heart. How could it not be equal? “I could love you.”

It was an offer made from a terrified and naive mind. One that made her laugh even harder. 

—

A moment passed. And then there was silence, so brittle. Broken by a soft “Oh,” from her. “You’re serious?” 

Was she considering it? I quickly nodded my head.  _ Yes.  _ If it saves me. Yes. I could love— I could love her. Like a friend. Like a sister. It would be hard, but it wouldn’t be impossible. 

She bent down and carefully eyed me, as if looking for signs of deception. I held her gaze as firmly as I could when she finally looked back into my eyes. 

Her eyes were luminescent. Glowing. I had not been imagining it before. They were beautiful. “What is your name?”

“K- Kara Danvers,” I hesitantly supplied. She nodded, accepting the answer. “My name is Lena,” she then said.

“Lena…” I echoed, as if testing the name. She continued to watch me. “It’s a beautiful name.”

She nodded again and stood back up. “Okay,” she stated, seeming to make her mind up about something.

“You have a deal then Kara Danvers,” she said, holding her hand out to me. “I will spare you your life… All you have to do is love me.”

I felt my heart stutter in my chest.

_ What have I gotten myself into? _

There’s no backing out now though. Unless I wanted to die. 

I sighed, softly, and made myself reach up and take her hand. It was pale, cold, and firm— like ivory. “Yes.” I then said as she easily pulled me up.

_ All I have to do is love you. _

_ — _

A couple of days had passed since that night. Everybody asked me about what had happened: my parents, my friends, reporters, shrinks that my parents hired for me. I had only one answer for all of them. 

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know.”

_ “I don’t know.” _

I don’t know what happened. Or at least, what really happened. Was Lena real? Did I really see a vampire? 

Everything from that night was so hazy. And it didn’t help that after she had pulled me up, she knocked me out. Hours later, I woke up in the car I had been brought to the house in. The house itself was on fire, and the loud sirens of fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances pierced the air.

One of the officers found me and they quickly took me to the hospital to be examined. 

I didn’t see Lena again.

Not that day at least. 

But I thought about her every day. 

Wondering.

**_How_ ** _ do I love her? _

—

Nightmares. 

Almost every night, I was plagued by nightmares. 

There was something very…  _ terrifying _ about having your believed security and safety completely shattered. To be taken from my school. To be trapped by complete strangers. To be locked in a room and handled so carelessly. 

To have a  _ normal  _ day turn into an irreversibly  _ abnormal  _ one. 

And to, technically, be  _ saved  _ by a vampire? 

It was too much. Too, too much. And one would think that the image of  _ Lena _ , gorging on the neck of a man, would be at the forefront of my nightmares, but it wasn’t. No. 

My nightmares were of being held at gunpoint— of being thrown into a tiny room, making me feel so claustrophobic and trapped that I started having panic attacks whenever I was enclosed in a room all by myself. My breathing and heart rate would race, my chest would tighten, my fingertips would tingle— and I even passed out a couple of times, to be found (thankfully) by my mother and then a teacher. 

My mother was very worried. My father was… inconvenienced. He had a name to uphold, and he would have a hard time doing that with a daughter suffering from PTSD. He couldn’t be bothered. He had meetings to go to, hands to shake. So he gave mother free reign to do what she felt she needed to take care of me. 

She started dropping me off and picking me up at school and other activities (I couldn’t trust another ‘driver’ anymore). She scoured the entirety of National City for a psychiatrist that I would actually talk to. She made me my favorite foods and made sure to buy me my favorite drinks. She helped me with my homework. Made sure that I kept up with my club activities. She—

She was suffocating me. After years of being either strictly policed to make sure we looked like the perfect family to being largely ignored when there are  _ ‘important events for daddy, honey,’ _ her efforts seemed insincere. She was the perfect politician’s wife and now she was acting like she cared. 

It felt fake, like she was just making up for years of— I couldn’t even call it disregard or neglect or severe expectations— it was an awful mixture of it all. 

It made it even harder for me to breathe. And I tried so hard not to say anything, to buck under the pressure. But one afternoon after school, when she was scolding me about how I didn’t talk to my newest shrink, I couldn’t stop myself anymore. 

I snapped.

I was so angry, so scared. I started yelling, telling her she didn’t understand what I was going through. That she never did. That she never will. That what she was doing was just as bad as what the kidnappers did, pushing me into a tight box and expecting me to just sit still in it. Like a little doll. 

Tears started rolling down my eyes, and my mother looked  _ crushed.  _ I had never seen her look like that because of me. And it hurt, it hurt my chest. But I was so tired of it all. So I shouted at her to leave me alone and ran back to my bedroom, locking the door behind me.

—

She didn’t come after me. 

And I buried myself in my bed and cried and cried and cried. I couldn’t do this much longer. I was starting to unravel. The lack of sleep was tearing me at the seams, and the pressure was making my chest so unbearably tight. I needed sleep.  _ God, please, I needed sleep. _

I reached into my pocket and carefully fished out the little bottle that I had stolen from my parents’ medicine cabinet, mother called them her  _ ‘la-la land candy.’  _ The label said,  **‘ALPRAZOLAM 0.5 MG. TABLETS. TAKE 1 TABLET BY MOUTH AT BEDTIME AS NEEDED FOR INSOMNIA.’**

I grabbed the water bottle on my bedside table and quickly took one of the tablets, not caring that my stomach was empty. Then I buried myself in my bed again. I needed it to kick in, quick. I was already feeling my head throb and my chest squeeze and squeeze. My claustrophobia was kicking in. The door was closed. The window was locked. I wanted to open something, but I didn’t want my mother to come in— and I was scared of what could come in through my window.

In my fear, I pulled another tablet out of the bottle and gulped that down too before closing my eyes again. I was shaking so hard that I almost dropped the pill a few times and definitely spilled some water on myself. 

Part of me wished I would just pass out— and that the pills would keep me asleep afterwards. My hands were feeling numb and tingly. My head felt like it was going to explode. I think I was moaning or groaning— I wasn’t sure. There was a knocking on my door. I screamed at it to go away. To just  _ please  _ leave me alone. 

It sounded so sharp. Like knuckles on glass instead of wood. My head was starting to feel a little light, a little fuzzy. Was this the pill? Or was I just breathing too fast? 

A noise. 

I couldn’t really describe it. Like a loud click and a creak and a bang at the same time. It jolted my heart. I tried to move, but my limbs suddenly felt so heavy. Everything felt so heavy. 

What was that? 

What’s going on?

“You  _ stupid, stupid  _ girl.” I heard someone, something hiss at me from somewhere. “What the un-holy hell were you  _ thinking? _ ” 

The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Did it sound like green? Like bright green? Or like white? Porcelain white? 

Were those hands on my shoulders? Pulling me— easily— to my side.  _ What’s going on?  _ Fingers that felt like ice dug into my shoulders, and then suddenly, pushed against my mouth. I tried to fight them, but they were too, too,  _ too  _ strong. And unrelenting, like they were on a mission. They pushed past my lips, undeterred by my biting teeth, and shoved themselves deep into my throat, quickly activating my gag reflex. 

I started vomiting. 

Whatever I swallowed rushed out. And then I was forced to vomit again. Until all I tasted was stomach acid, burning my throat. Then a wet cloth was being wiped on my face. And cool fingers were pushing back my hair, trailing a path along my temple, a welcomed contrast on my burning skin.

_ “Hush,”  _ the voice suddenly said, now softer, more muted. “Hush,  _ mo chuisle _ , you have been through too much. It is time for you to sleep. Sleep— do not worry. You will be safe. I am here. I will keep you safe.”

_ Safe. _

That’s what my father promised me.

What my mother vowed to me.

What my shrinks told me.

That I am now safe. 

But I couldn’t believe them. 

But this time— this time— I felt a soft palm press itself against my cheek. 

This time, I did  _ feel  _ it. 

I felt  _ safe. _

So I finally—  _ finally _ — fell asleep.

—

When I finally woke up, it was with a sour taste in my mouth and the ghost of a cold hand on my cheek. Sunlight was coming through the open window, I had slept through the night. The first time in… a long time—  _ wait. _

_ The window was open?  _

I disentangled myself from my blanket and stumbled my way to the window. I looked over it and saw that the latch was—  _ broken?  _ Like it had just snapped in half from brute force. A shiver slid its way down my spine, and I looked around the room. 

The bottle I had stolen from my mom was gone. A sweatshirt I owned was in the trash bin next to my desk. I walked over to it and gingerly tried to pick it up, but it was wet with— what was that?  _ Oh. Vomit.  _

Last night. 

That voice. That touch. I reached up to cup my own cheek. Was she here? Last night? Did she make me throw up? 

I walked back to the window and looked out. Has she been watching me? 

Lena. 

She said she will keep me safe…

I felt my chest tighten again.

And then I heard a knock coming from my door, and my mom’s voice sounded from the other side, “honey? Can we talk? Please?” 

I blinked and turned around. 

_ Lena. _

_ Did she save me again? _

—

Mother started working with me more instead of just working  _ on  _ me like a project after that. She tried not to suffocate me and let me choose my own psychiatrist that I felt comfortable with. She was nice. An older lady with kind eyes and a soft smile.

She advised me to start keeping a journal, which I actually found to be very cathartic and relaxing, and she helped me slowly, but surely start to overcome my claustrophobia. And at night— 

At night, I kept my window open.

It made me feel safe. 

_ She _ made me feel safe.

And sometimes, I would write a note to her and put it on the windowsill before I would sleep. And every morning when I wake up, the note would be gone. Or sometimes, if I wrote a question, I would get an answering note. 

The first one I wrote was a couple of weeks after the night she broke her way into my room. I had simply written  _ ‘Thank you, Lena’  _ on it. And the next few notes that followed were pretty similar. 

_ Thank you for watching over me. _

_ I’m sorry I took those pills. _

_ I hope you are staying safe. _

Then, out of curiosity. The next ones had questions on them.

_ The sky was beautiful today. But I don’t think you were able to enjoy it? Does the sun burn you— or do you, you know, sparkle? _

The response to that was short and a little insulting. It was:

**_Hahaha!_ **

But it was also… comforting nonetheless, knowing that she  _ was  _ there, knowing that she  _ was  _ watching over me. So, undeterred, I asked her another question.

_ Glad you found that funny. What’s your favorite color? _

A more direct question. One that she wouldn’t have to explain. 

**_Blue and red to see. And black to wear._ **

Her handwriting was bold and strong, just like her, and I found myself reading her notes repeatedly, as if they would tell me more than just the words that were clear to see. And this exchange went on for a few more weeks, until one day, I stopped getting responses.

My notes still disappeared, but I no longer received one or two-sentence comebacks dripping with sarcasm or straightforward answers that gave no room for misinterpretation. 

And—

And it worried me

And some nights, I would softly whisper _ ‘Lena,’  _ out into the cool night air.  _ Lena, where are you?  _

But my only response was silence. And some nights, I would stay up and wait. And wait, watching the note that I left out, trying to catch even just a glimpse of my vampire savior. But in the end, she still didn’t show up, and the note would not be collected.

The note would only be collected when I was deep asleep. Not even when I would lay in bed and try to pretend to be asleep. 

And so I stopped trying to stay up. 

There was a part of me that worried that Lena wouldn’t be getting my notes, so I decided that I would just have to sleep, just so she would continue to do so. And another part of me knew that she would prefer me to actually be resting anyway. Even if I didn’t get answers, even if I didn’t get to know more of her— 

It was going to be okay.

She was keeping me safe, and I… I was finally sleeping and resting so well. 

So it was going to be okay.

I would keep writing her notes, and she would keep watching over me, like my own guardian angel. 

And this continued. 

Night after night.

Week after week.

Month after month.

And year after year.

Until.

_ Until… _

—

I was 17 years old. 

I was finishing up my last year in highschool, and I was more than excited. I had received a few more random notes here and there from Lena since then, and I had kept each one in a beautiful wooden jewelry box that my mother had given me. 

The window stayed unlocked and opened every night, and all my notes (though I no longer wrote daily but once a week after the first year) still disappeared by the morning. And some nights— some nights— I would hear a voice, or voices, from the outside. Soft, hushed voices, talking casually as if in easy conversation. And instead of feeling afraid, they only made me feel more secure. Especially the one with the familiar foreign lilt.

— 

Nicole was my best friend in highschool. She was sweet and bubbly, and had an infinite amount of energy for someone who was only 4 feet and 10 inches tall. And unlike me, she was very popular and part of the cheerleading team. 

I was less known: a member of the chess club, the debate club, and the women’s varsity basketball team, and we had only become friends because she needed a Physics tutor, and I had gotten assigned to her. And though I preferred to just stay at home and read, she was an extrovert who believed that everybody should live everyday to the fullest and party as often as possible. 

So one Friday night a few weeks before graduation, she dragged me to a small party being hosted by a few football players. It was not one of their usual celebratory fiestas where the whole house and surrounding pool and lawns were filled with a multitude of teenagers exuding sweat and excitement and chugging beer illegally and relentlessly like if they stopped drinking, their lives would cease to have meaning—

“Stop thinking so hard,” Nicole had told me as she pulled me into the house. “I can hear you from all the way over here.”

“What?” I protested as I closed the door behind me. “How would you even—”

“That crinkle is a dead give away,” she said with a fond smile. “Come on, Kar, loosen up a little! We’re  _ seniors.  _ We’re  _ graduating!  _ It’s gonna be alright! Life’s not gonna explode just because we had some fun!” 

“That’s right!” Quarterback James Olsen seconded as he held out two red solo cups. “Loosen up, B-ball girl,” he said with a cocky grin, “you might actually get something if you do.” 

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising a brow as I ignored the drinks he offered. 

“I said—”

“Stop, Jimmy,” Nicole then said, grabbing the cups from his hands. “Don’t be such a dick to my friend.” 

“Okay, okay,” James then said, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “I’ll be nice. But do enjoy the drinks. And there’s more in the kitchen if you need them.”

I watched him leave and tried my best not to throw one of the cups after him. 

“I’m sorry, Kar,” Nicole then said, “James is usually pretty nice. But he does have his moments.” 

“Yeah, moments,” I said, flatly.

Nicole pouted at me and then held out a drink. “Have a drink with your best buddy at least?” she asked, widening her eyes into the most manipulative puppy dog face she had in her arsenal. 

“Gah,” I said, taking the drink. “Fine, just— just put that away!” 

She smirked smugly, used to getting what she wanted from me. “Good! Now bottom’s up!”

And I drank with her, quickly drinking so that I wouldn't have to keep the taste in my mouth longer than I had to.

I hated beer. Hated the taste of it. And this one, this one was especially awful.

I just didn’t know then just how awful it really was.

—

My stomach was cramping. My mouth was dry and my eyes felt prickly. My vision was getting hazy and there was a heavy throbbing in my head. I had lost Nicole, and I was currently stumbling my way down a hallway on the second floor.

I braced myself against the next door I reached and frantically tried to twist the door knob, but my hands felt like pool noodles, unmanageable and thick. _ What happened? The drinks?  _ I only had one, being the designated driver and all, no matter how much Nicole insisted— and she— Nicole had drunk quite a bit. 

Most of us had gathered in the large living room. James Olsen (the QB), Morgan Edge (the center), and Don McQueen (one of the guards), Brandi Lovin (head cheerleader), Stacey Godsey (second-in-command of the cheerleading team), Nicole, and me. 

Brandi was playing music, and Stacey had draped herself all over Don, both of them trying to shover their tongues in each other’s throats. James and Morgan were talking amongst themselves quietly. And Nicole was happily telling me about the new book she was reading called  _ ‘Sophie’s World.” _

It was in the middle of her description of the pre-Socratic philosophical ideas that she suddenly slumped forward and almost fell on me. I caught her and quickly sat her back up. Then, with the medical emergency training I had received (and asked for after… after being kidnapped years ago), I started to shake her a bit to see if that would perk her up. 

It didn’t work. 

Trying to keep my cool, I carefully placed two of my fingers against the pulsepoint on her neck and felt a slow but steady beat. By this time, James and Morgan had gotten up and come over. 

“Woah, is she okay?” Morgan asked, his voice strangely flat. I ignored them and carefully laid her back on the couch we were on before placing one hand on her chest and one under her nose. 

A beat. Two. Her chest rose and fell, and I felt a short  _ woosh  _ of air coming out her nostrils. 

_ She was still breathing, good.  _

Without another word, I took out my phone and was about to dial  _ 911  _ when James suddenly grabbed my wrist. 

“What do you think you’re doing, you fucking dyke?” He asked, his voice suddenly cold and cruel. I turned to stare at him, and he tightened his grip on me. Angry. Desperate. There was something very wrong here.

“Are you kidding me, James?” I burst out. “I’m calling  _ 911\.  _ Nicole just passed out. It could be something serious. And fuck you for you calling me that.” 

I was about to make a move when Morgan suddenly grabbed my elbow. I looked over and Brandi was slumped over the chair she was in and Stacey— Stacey was just sitting there on Don and coldly eyeing Brandi’s unconscious body. 

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here now,  _ bitch _ ,” Morgan said, almost spitting in my face. My head was starting to hurt, my mouth was getting dry.  _ Shit.  _ I needed to call  _ 911. _ Something was definitely wrong. 

With no hesitation, I thought back to my self-defense classes and forcibly slammed my forehead as hard as I could against Morgan’s, hitting him so hard that he let me go and stumbled back. Then, I twisted my body and viciously kicked James between the legs. And when he went down, I grabbed his head and brought my knee up hard to his face. 

He fell back, surprised, his nose bleeding. And before they could do anything else, I bolted. 

I ran. 

—

I had run to the front door first, but it was locked and heavy. And with my head starting to get fuzzy, I didn’t feel like I could break it down. So I decided to go upstairs, find somewhere to hide and call  _ 911\.  _

And so there I was, trying to open a door, clumsily and shakily with my pool noodle hands. And then I heard voices behind me.  _ James and Morgan.  _ I started to panic, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I needed to get into the room, to hide— 

_ Please, open! Please open! Please just open!  _

I was about to ram my shoulder into the door when it suddenly opened, and I fell in. I had expected to fall to the hard floor, but instead I fell into a pair of slender but strong arms that caught me and carefully stood me up. 

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” a smooth, familiar voice chided as a pair of unforgettable, glowing green eyes set themselves on me. I swallowed, thickly.  _ Was I hallucinating?  _ I reached up and gently cupped Lena’s cool cheek, my thumb almost brushing the edge of her red lips. 

“Lena,” I slowly breathed out. Was she real? I felt myself hope deeply that she was. She, who made me feel so safe, so secure. I  _ knew  _ then that I was going to be okay. 

“Kara,” she responded with an amused curve to her lips. “How am I to believe that you love me when you are constantly surrounded by trash?” 

And after those words escaped her lips, I heard two loud  _ thuds  _ coming from down the hallway. I flinched, and Lena effortlessly drew me up against her. I had gotten much taller since we last saw each other, now about  _ 5’5,  _ with a slim and athletic build thanks to karate and basketball. But I still felt so small, especially when her eyes took on an intense, almost hungry, shine. 

“Such…bad little boys that you have forsaken me so quickly for,” she sighed, mocking and deadly. She reached up and possessively placed her hand over my own, her cool touch sending a shiver down my spine. “Shall I kill them all?” 

I knew it was no idle threat. That she would happily devour the blood and souls of everyone in the house, but Nicole—  _ shit, Nicole.  _ “No-no,” I shakily mustered, trying to think through the fog in my head caused by whatever they spiked the drinks with and my utter disbelief in seeing Lena again. 

“Have to— call the police, ambulance. They drugged us.” My lips felt numb, and it was hard to get words out. I didn’t even know if she could understand me. But the amusement in her eyes flickered and then vanished, to be replaced by steely determination.

“I know,” she suddenly said, nodding her head. “I already called them. Anonymously. They should be here soon.” 

“Nicole?” I carefully worded out, not being able to say the rest:  _ is she okay? Is she still breathing? Has she woken up?  _

Lena sighed and, with inhuman speed and strength, picked me up in her arms with great ease. I instinctively wrapped my arms around her strong neck and held tight, or as tightly as I could with my arms that still felt floppy and thick. My vision was starting to get hazier, and I felt my chest tighten. 

It reminded me of that day so many years ago. Like I was that little girl again, trapped in a pantry. But Lena—  _ Lena _ ’s strong arms held fast around me, and I was able to slowly calm my heart and my breathing. 

We finally arrived in the living room. Everyone had been knocked out: James and Morgan in the upstairs hallways, Brandi and Nicole still where they were, and Don and Stacey slumped over each other. And there, near the fireplace, stood a tall, beautiful brunette with rich, olive-toned skin dressed in a a stylish black pantsuit with a white silk blouse. She looked like she had just walked out of a business meeting with the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. 

And Lena— well, now that I was looking,  _ looked  _ like that sharply dressed and dashing CEO of a Fortune 500 company. She was dressed quite differently from when I last saw her. She had on a dark burgundy blazer over a red, lacy top that showed off flawless, porcelain skin. Her neck was elegant, her jaw sharp. Her make-up was immaculate, and her lips— 

“Is Nicole okay, Sam?” Lena asked, interrupting my train of thought. I followed her gaze and looked at the only other upright person in the room. Sam shook her head, a grim expression on her face. “Her heartbeat is slowing down. And her fingertips are turning blue. I made her throw up a couple of times, but even that didn’t work. Whatever she consumed, her body has already processed enough to be deadly.” 

Lena gazed back down at me and then carefully placed me on one of the seats in the room. “The ambulance is near,” she said in explanation, “we have to go. We can’t be caught here.” 

Hit with a sudden fear at knowing that Lena was about to leave me, I tried to hold onto her tighter. But it was no use, my limbs were getting heavier and so were my eyelids. 

“Please,” I croaked, my throat dry and hoarse. “Lena, please don’t go.” 

She gently held and squeezed my reaching hands and said, “I won’t, Kara. I’ll be here the whole time, you’ll be okay,  _ mo chuisle.  _ Just close your eyes.”

And then the sound of sirens pierced the air.

And then Lena was gone. 

And my eyes closed.

_ — _

When I woke up, I was in the hospital. My stomach had been pumped and an IV was flushing my system with fluids. My mom and father were in my room: mom holding my hand and father on the phone in the corner, talking to  _ ‘governor this’  _ and  _ ‘senator that.’ _

The moment I opened my eyes, I had tried to look for Lena, but she wasn’t there. And my chest quickly tightened, I asked my mom what the time was, and she told me it was  _ 10 AM  _ the following day, Saturday, and that I was in the Medical ICU of the National City Hospital. 

She told me about what else happened last night, about how we were all found unconscious in the Olsen’s home. Then her voice started to falter and become hesitant, something that even father noticed. He got off the phone and came over to hold her hand and put his other hand on top of mine and mom’s hands. 

Then mom began to tell me about Nicole. She had lost her pulse when the ambulance finally arrived, and they quickly started performing life saving measures. And while they were doing that, Brandi had started having seizure-like movement. Thankfully, the other ambulance had arrived, and they didn’t have to divide their efforts for too long. But— but it wasn’t enough.

Nicole was young and healthy, so they worked on her, hard. They probably cracked a few ribs with vigorous compressions, tried to flush her out with bags of fluid, gave her all the life-saving medications, inserted a tube down her throat to keep her breathing, to get the blue out of her fingertips— but Nicole...

_ Nicole died.  _

In the Emergency Department, in a room so cold and white and a complete opposite of her. I couldn’t stop myself, I started sobbing. Crying right into my sheets.  _ No. No. No.  _ Then they told me that Brandi was still alive, in another room here in the ICU. How they had seen her parents, distraught and devastated, because Brandi was almost completely unresponsive. With a breathing machine and multiple medications to keep her… alive— or was it even that? 

The tears kept falling from my eyes, until—  _ until— _ mom told me about how the others had been found unconscious too and were taken to the ER as well. And they said that somebody had come and attacked us and poisoned us. It made me sick. I got so angry, starting shouting that it was  **_their fault!_ ** They were the ones who did this. 

“They poisoned us, mom! They probably didn’t think it would kill us, but those— _those f-_ ** _fuckers_** did this! They killed Nicole! They are killing Brandi! James and Morgan grabbed me an—”

“Woah, woah,” father suddenly said, a look of disbelief twisting his face. “Those are  _ very  _ strong accusations, sweetheart. Reputation damaging ones. Especially for prominent families like the Olsens—you know they own the local media. And the Edges! They own the most sought-after real estate development business, and you  _ definitely  _ know—”

Of course I knew. I knew the McQueens that owned and ran the biggest store franchise were his strongest supporters. All of those families were supporters of his, and the Godseys were too, even if they weren’t as high up on the social ladder. But _ what the actual fuck?! _

_ “Nicole died _ ,” I angrily cut into his self-serving explanation. “My best friend  _ died!  _ They  _ killed  _ her! Dad, that is  _ wrong!  _ Or do you even know what is right from wrong anymore?” 

My father looked at me like I had slapped him, and he opened his mouth but nothing came out. Mom looked between me and him worriedly, her own eyes wet with tears. 

A long moment passed, and he stood up and left the room. 

He never did answer that question. And mom— mom was torn. We had gotten closer, much closer throughout the years, but she was still definitely the senator’s wife. 

She rubbed her thumb over my knuckles and told me everything was going to be okay. 

But it wasn’t. 

And she lied. 

_ — _

A week had passed since then. 

And Brandi had died late last night. 

I had cried until I had no more tears to shed. I had tried, tried so hard to get something to happen, but father remained unmoved, and mother was just as unsuccessful. The Olsens, Edges, McQueens, and Godseys banded together to keep their children safe and perpetuated the lie that some other anonymous person or persons attacked and poisoned us while we were just having innocent highschool fun.

It sickened me. 

It sickened me so much. 

Lies, everywhere. Not a single bit of truth. I had tried to go to the local police myself, but they treated me more as an annoying nuisance than anything else. Told me that I was remembering things wrong because I was  _ ‘too drugged up.’  _

I had never been more frustrated…

And Nicole was still dead.

_ — _

That night, a little before midnight, I sat in front of my open window and started calling out, “Lena, Lena, Lena!” Both my parents were at a charity ball, so I didn’t care about being loud. A few seconds passed, and I started calling out again, “Lena! Lena! Please come? I need to talk to you.”

A long period of silence and then suddenly, there she was, landing almost soundlessly on a thick branch about ten feet away from my window. And then, in the blink of an eye, she was on my windowsill, crouched down, her glowing green eyes sweeping around me. 

“Hmm. Yes,  _ mo chuisle _ , you called?” She peered into my room. “It seems like you’re not in danger, so, am I to believe that this is actually a social call? How novel.”

That name she called me.

She had called me that before, and it sounded so strangely beautiful coming from her. It sounded…  _ right.  _ And I didn’t think I meant the pronunciation or accent, I wasn’t sure, but it just felt right. And I really wondered what it meant, but I was distracted by what she was wearing.

A tight-fitting snake-print dress with white and orange accents on a dark background with an elegantly folded neckline. The hem slid up her slender legs at her actions and showed off a lot of skin— _ a lot of flawless skin.  _ Her thighs, her calves, her feet that were in a pair of closed, pointed toe pumps that looked like they were made from genuine Italian leather. They all came together to create a very distracting—

“Kara?” she said, snapping me out of my stupor as she stepped into the room and lightly tugged her dress down. I felt a  _ twinge _ of something I didn’t understand, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts. 

I took a deep breath and then said, “thank you.” And before I could say anything else, she released a long-suffering sigh and leaned back on the window behind her before tilting her head to the side, as if unimpressed. 

“Well,” she shrugged. “I suppose that is the closest to love I will get for now.” She paused, her usually vivid green eyes seeming to darken as she watched me searchingly with her half-lidded gaze. 

“Tell me, Kara,” she then said after a time, her red lips suddenly curling into an unamused smirk. “How many times do I have to save your life before you fulfill  _ your _ part of the bargain?”

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame, remembering the deal I had made so many years ago in an attempt to save my life. A deal that apparently kept on giving because here Lena was again, saving my life for the third time. I looked down, unable to hold her gaze, and brokenly whispered, “I… I am sorry. I’m just… I’m just not there yet.” 

A deep sigh came from her, and I hesitantly looked back up. She looked more tired than angry, and I couldn’t help but voice out what I have been thinking for a while, “but I am close. Very. I definitely care about you,” I paused, searched her face as she did mine, and in finding no change, continued, “and I think about you. A lot.” 

A change. A softening in the curve of her lips, a lightening in her exquisite green eyes. I felt warmth flush my cheeks again, this time, more out of just embarrassment. And as shy as I felt, I knew I needed to tell her this, and well, once I started, it was like my mouth didn’t know when to stop.

“I think about you all the time,” I confessed, in a soft, even tone. “I think about you when I wake up, if you’ve taken my note. Left one. If you hide from the sun, or can stay in it. I think about you when I go to sleep, if you’re watching me. Listening to me. If you sit on my windowsill sometimes, try to get close to me.”

With every word that passed my lips, I felt more and more vulnerable, like I was peeling off cover after cover, until there would be nothing left. “I think about you when you’re there, and even more so when you’re not. I think about you when I see the colors red and blue, your favorites. And I wonder if you like roses or blueberries. I think about you when I touch something cold or see a flash of green.” 

I smiled, the curl of my lips driven by a certain and undeniable fondness. “I read your notes almost daily, religiously, even after all this time, wanting to know as much about you as I can. And then even more.” I slowly stood up and took a step forward and then another, removing the space between us. 

“I think about you all the time, Lena,” I then repeated when we were finally just a few inches away from each other. “And I thank you. I thank you for saving my life.”

She watched me, assessing, calculating. Then finally, after a long moment, she nodded her head. “You are welcome,” she said, taking in my earnest words and gaze. 

A pause. “I am sorry your friend, Nicole, died.” 

And at her words, I fell apart again. And I started crying, though it was mostly dry sobs since I still hadn’t recovered from the previous times I had cried my tears out. And Lena, with no hesitation, grabbed me and pulled me into a fierce hug in the arms that always made me feel so secure.

And she held me as I cried again.

Cried for Nicole, cried for Brandi, cried for their families. 

Cried for us all.

_ — _

  
  



	2. 2.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. 
> 
> So this is the first part of Chapter 2. I have finished the entirety of it but feel like tweaking a few parts— so I have decided to post the first part instead of making you all wait longer for the full update.
> 
> I will post the first part tonight and the second part tomorrow. 
> 
> And I am very thankful for all the kudos, bookmarks, and reviews— special thanks of course to these lovely people: karlenaforever, JAWilder, JBQ (hope this is Dark enough for you ;) ), Alexxxxx, kshymcgra, Consumr88, XFantasmagoriaX, IamDenny, and 19forpresident! 
> 
> Thank you for your words and kindness! I hope you will enjoy this update— and a warning, as usual, this part will take a darker turn, so, delicious humans:
> 
> Enter at your own risk.
> 
> And enjoy!
> 
> Trigger warning and general warning for murder, suicide, angst, dark/sexual fantasies, sex, graphic descriptions, violence, and altogether just a whole lot of dark themes.

Nicole’s funeral was a somber affair, and when I saw James, Morgan, Don, and Stacey coming in, I saw red. I didn’t even remember what happened, but Nicole’s mother told me that she and Nicole’s dad had to hold me back while they firmly asked them to leave. I wished they hadn’t held me back, I didn’t care anymore. 

I wanted to slap them, hit them, hurt them— hurt them like they hurt Nicole. Hurt her family. Hurt me. And I was just glad that Nicole’s parents believed me, even if no one else other than my mom did. That those people had been the one to hurt their darling. Unfortunately, Nicole’s parents didn’t have a strong social or financial platform to fight for justice against the rich and influential families of the ones that hurt their child.

And the very thought twisted my guts and clenched my heart, so much so that I ended up in my room again, miserable and mourning. And I stayed as such until close to midnight, when Lena suddenly appeared, sitting in the open window, her back against the frame, dangling her legs outside. I saw her and got up and moved a chair next to her, then I sat down and needily laid my head on her lap. 

She let me do this, as if sensing my desperation, and started gently stroking my hair, her cool fingers leaving a tingly feeling on my scalp. 

We had talked last night after I had cried again. I asked her about the other woman who was there in the Olsen house with her, a twinge of something bitter—  _ maybe something jealous—  _ in my tone. She had smirked, a knowing look in her eyes, as she responded, telling me that she was one of her closest friends, named Sam Arias, who was apparently the one who would keep an eye on me when Lena was out of town. 

Which is why she knew who Nicole was. Which is why she was not surprised about having to help Lena last night. I had written many notes to Lena, and the green-eyed vampire said Sam was loyal to a fault and would never read a single one of them without her and my express consent. 

Then she told me about where she had been, what she had done. How she had to go to Ireland to take care of some family business and in doing so, decided to tour Europe. How she had gone to Cairo another time to help an old friend with a translation of hieroglyphics. How she loved to go to different places, from big cities to small towns, from Asia to Africa. How wherever she went, she learned something new, and how traveling was so easy for a vampire like her. 

Hearing her talk was so soothing, and she easily distracted me from my pain. Even for a little while. And when I finally drifted off to sleep, it was with her hand in mine, and for the first time in weeks, I didn’t have any nightmares. 

Now, I pressed my cheek against the soft material of the stylishly striped black pantsuit she had on, and inhaled deeply. She carried a fragrant scent: sweet with notes of rose and jasmine, and beneath it, an undetermined sharpness. Cool. Metallic. I had a very good idea what it was, but I ignored the thoughts in my head and closed my eyes. 

“Do you know what the scariest thing about vampires for humans is, Kara?” Lena suddenly asked, her voice almost soft enough to be kind, but not fully, laced with a coldness that only such a dark creature could create. Keeping my eyes closed, I shook my head slightly as my response.

Lena, now sliding her hand down my head and my neck to my back, started tracing circles on me as she said, “the scariest thing about vampires for humans is that even though we’re not supposed to exist, we do. And it makes everybody wonder: what other terrifying things might be out there?” 

“But see, that’s a very misdirected thought because from what I have seen, what I have experienced, and what I have learned, the most common source of dangers for humans are themselves,” she paused here, as if to take a breath that she didn’t need, and then expounded, “we vampires feed because of need. Human blood keeps us alive and viable. Yes, some of us may get greedy and some of us kill more than we should, but we do it out of hunger, driven by bloodlust. Or in order to protect ourselves. Or those we care for.,Out of an essential need. You—  _ humans _ — a being that I once was, kill and hurt others for many other inexplicable or brutal reasons.”

“And I can attest to this. You kill each other for sport. For glory. For anger. Jealousy. Greed. Because of your prejudice, your bias. Your religion, your politics, your government. Because of the color of people’s skin, who they love, and what they believe in,” her fingertips traced the outline of my shoulder blades. “Humans are the most terrifying creatures of all. And you,  _ mo chuisle _ , have experienced some of the worst of them.”

I felt a cold, cruel shiver wreck its way down my spine at her words. She was right, humans were so very inhumane, and her words watered the hatred that already bloomed so strongly in my chest against those that hurt Nicole. Killed Nicole. Killed Brandi. It was atrocious, what had happened. I hated them.  _ Hated them all!  _

I turned my head to the side and finally spoke, my voice trembling with an anger that I never thought myself capable of, “they did this. To Nicole. To Brandi. They  _ killed  _ them, killed two innocent girls. And for what? I knew that it was bad, they drugged us. Probably to… to hurt us. In a way worse than death. And Stacey! She betrayed her ‘best friends,’ and I just  _ don’t get it!  _ Jealousy? Anger? Did she want to be captain that bad? The very idea is so  _ ridiculous!” _

“But ridiculous doesn’t mean impossible,” Lena countered, her hand stilling. I sighed heavily at the loss, of her movement, of my friends, of the shred of normalcy I had grasped in between the biggest human-caused tragedies of my life. 

“They deserve to die,” I finally and coldly stated, feeling an intense iciness set deep in my chest, around my heart. “They all deserve to die.”

I closed my eyes again, unable to say anything more. And in the silence, Lena started stroking my hair again. 

Her movements were precise and controlled, and in my sorrow, they almost felt gentle. 

Almost.

—

Lena did not come to me the next night. Nor the night after. Or the one after that. But the notes still disappeared, and I started feeling a hollow ache in my chest. One that deepened and seemed to carve its way into the beating muscles of my heart. 

—

It was about a week later when I was startled by unexpected news. It was a Monday, I had just gotten to school, and the whole place was buzzing. There had been a terrible accident. Last night, while on the way home after the late movies at the theater, the car Don and Stacey were in was struck by thick logs that had gotten loose from the transport truck that they were on. 

Two of the logs even burst through the windshield, striking them and then causing their whole vehicle to careen into a deep ditch. Neither survived, they were both found dead on the spot. Hearing this news, I had thought that I would  _ feel  _ something. Like sadness, gried, or even a small  _ hint  _ of regret. But I didn’t. I felt numb. Cold. Like ice water had just been dumped on me. 

They were dead. Two of the people from that night were dead. And I— I didn’t know what I felt. If I felt anything at all. And though I tried to process it, and tried to understand it, I didn’t get enough time to do so, because in three days, there was another accident. 

—

Morgan regularly went with his father to oversee the developments their company, Edge Industries, worked on. And apparently, he had a tendency to wander off and look at the different areas by himself. Wednesday evening, he had gone with his dad to check out the new loft apartments they were building. And as his father and the head architect talked, Morgan did as he usually did and wandered off.

But this time, he didn’t come back. And soon enough, they heard screaming. He had been found  _ inside  _ the large hollow mixer of the giant concrete mixing truck— stuck in the heavy and clinging materials inside. The truck which was off, had somehow turned back on, and Morgan was quickly getting buried under. They immediately shut down the truck and called  _ 911\.  _

But they were too late. Morgan was buried. His mouth and ears filled with concrete, and he had even breathed and swallowed some in. He was dead. There was an investigation, of course. Gregory Edge (Morgan’s father) always ensured the security of his projects, so they checked the multiple security points, checked the security cameras, and did a full on investigation. 

They found nothing. All the workers were where they had to be. Nobody unknown or unauthorized entered the area. No hairs, no fingerprints. Nothing. Now, they didn’t put any of these in the papers. No. I just knew because the Edges were friends with my family, and so I heard the details straight from Mrs. Ellen Morgan as she talked to my mother about her poor, poor boy over a cup of tea. 

And the things about most adults? They tend to ignore anybody younger than them. So I got to listen in as I sipped on my own cup, holding myself back from reminding Mrs. Morgan just what her  _ darling  _ son had done to me and my friends as she tearfully lamented the loss of her little angel.

It sickened me. I couldn’t believe how quickly she had forgotten how her spawn had hurt us. And mom, mom was grimacing and flinching the whole time, knowing how I felt but knowing her own duties to father who still refused to even acknowledge what had happened  _ that  _ night. It wasn’t long before I had to excuse myself. 

I had better things to do. I had a graduation to prepare for, basketball practices to lead, karate classes to teach, a valedictorian speech to prepare— anything else would be better than hearing someone talk about how  _ good  _ Morgan was, and how he deserved to live. How he had died so young and full of potential. 

It made my chest tighten and squeeze and made my stomach churn and roil, and in the end, all I could write for my speech were seven words. 

_ Humans are the worst of us all.  _

—

Soon enough, it was graduation. 

It was in the morning, to try to prevent the heat from killing the whole graduation class and their families and supporters. The sky was partly clouded over. The football stadium was completely filled, and the whole place was buzzing and whistling with energy. I had had three seats saved for my guests: my dad, mom, and… and Lena, even though I knew she wouldn’t come— couldn’t come. And in the middle of those three seats, my mom, alone, waved at me as I walked up to the mic.

A smattering of applause sounded as I steadied myself, having already memorized my speech. And at this moment, even if I forgot, what could they do?  _ Un-graduate me?  _ I didn’t think that was even possible. 

I started by thanking all of those who contributed to our graduation: the school, the teachers, the counselors, the janitors, and all staff. Our parents, families, friends— people we have formed personal relationships with. And then, after that, I placed my hands on the podium and I took in a deep breath. 

“It is an honor and a privilege to be the one to address my fellow graduates here today. To be honest with you all, I feel woefully unprepared in the expected task of sharing words of wisdom or direction, so instead I will just share with you all a lesson that I have learned in the process of understanding who I want to be.”

I paused, sweeped my gaze across the crowd, then continued. “I want to be a seeker of truth. The different kinds of truth. The ones on display like the vivid colors of a rainbow, the ones glistening like the sweat on the brow of our hard workers. The ones that line the varying depths of our economy, government, and society, and the ones that shine like bright pearls hidden within shells and deep within dangerous waters.”

“And in this journey of seeking truth— full truths, and not just halfs or lies or excuses or biases— what I have learned is to be  _ relentless.  _ Just as with Leonardo da Vinci, our allegiance as living, breathing beings is not to the system, the sciences, or the public but to the  _ ultimate triumph of truth _ . And it is with that allegiance that we are given not merely an invitation, but a challenge to continue to learn, day after day after day, to continue to search for the truth.”

“We must be relentless, and we must be focused. For in the pursuit of truth, there will be veils, distractions, tests, and  _ threats—  _ ”

My voice faltered, for a second, a figure, lean and dressed in a perfectly cut, blue, three-piece, pinstripe suit with a matching wide-brimmed hat sat down next to my mom.

_ Lena. _

_ Wow. _

_ Striking _ . 

“— but we must remain faithful to our mission.” Thankfully, I had practiced my speech often and continued, powered on by muscle memory and repetition. 

And as I continued my speech, my eyes locked on her, and never strayed. 

—

That night, the news spread like wildfire. James Olsen, the quarterback and heir to the Olsen media company, had been found dead in his bedroom with a noose tight around his neck. Suicide. And he had left notes, scrawled wildly all over the walls of his room. 

_ ‘We’re sorry Nicole.” _

_ “We’re sorry Brandi.  _

_ “We did it.”  _

_ “Stacey told Don. And Don told us.” _

_ “You weren’t supposed to die.” _

_ “Nobody was supposed to die.” _

_ “I’m sorry.” _

Pictures of the walls had somehow been taken and spread virally on the web and multiple social platforms, untraceable and destructive. The notes were written in red ink and smeared, looking almost like blood. 

I heard a sound from the window and put down my phone. 

“A very compelling speech,  _ mo chuisle _ .” Lena declared, her voice clear like glass and so familiar now. The scent of jasmine, roses, and that metallic sharpness reached my nose, and I instinctively looked towards the source of it. 

Lena, no hat, no jacket— just a long-sleeved, all-white button up shirt, a vest, trousers, and a pair of bright red, strappy heels. She was already in the room, leaning back against the window. The vest was open, and the top couple of buttons of the shirt were undone, exposing an expanse of porcelain skin. Flawless.

_ Devastating. _

“Was this your doing?” I asked as I sat back on the bed, trying to hide the trembling of my hands as I dug them into my comforter. “This. James. Morgan. Don. And Stacey.” 

Lena’s face remained unfazed: cool and composed. A second. Two. And then, a small smile started playing on the edge of her scarlet-painted lips. 

But she still said nothing. 

It was almost midnight. Mom and I celebrated by ordering take-out. I hadn’t wanted to go out. Nicole and I— we had plans. Plans that now couldn’t happen. So I just asked for take-out instead, potstickers, my favorite. And ice cream for dessert.

Now mom was asleep.

And I was in my room with a vampire that possibly murdered four of my fellow former graduates. 

“Accidents. The logs falling out of the truck? Striking their car so accurately? Tell me, how strong  _ are you? _ ” Her smile widened, and it sent a strong shiver wrecking down my spine. “And Morgan? How he was thrown into the cement mixer. So efficiently done. No evidence. Nothing caught on camera. How fast  _ are you _ ?”

Lena's glowing eyes seemed to sparkle and shine as I went on. She was amused. My fists clenched. “And James— suicide. And all those very incriminating scrawls. I— I don’t even know how you managed that.  _ Mind control? _ ”

At this point, Lena actually laughed, sharp and piercing at first, then it softened, into something more like gentle bells. I grunted in frustration and grabbed a pillow before flinging it at her. She easily grabbed the pillow out of the air and threw it back next to me. 

“Answer me,  _ please _ ,” I finally implored, as I leaned forward, putting my knees on my elbows. “Did you do it? Did you do it, Lena?”

And I paused, looked down, no longer able to look at her. “And did you do it for me?” 

I closed my hands. Opened them. Closed them again and dug my nails into my palms—  _ hard _ . I wanted to and also didn’t want to hear her answer to my last question. 

A hand, cool and firm, cupped my jaw and pulled, making me sit up, making me look up.  _ Lena.  _ She gazed down at me with a cutting edge, verdant eyes luminous and fierce. Her neck was strong, her jaw defined. When her lips moved, I followed every single motion, and when she spoke, the words echoed in my head, familiar and icy.

“They deserved to die,” she coldly hissed, “they all deserved to die.”

I felt my chest tighten. The smell of jasmine, roses, and blood invaded my nose. Her touch, though cold, burned my skin. Her words were my words, the words I had told her that night. She had done it. Done it for me. Murdered in cold blood. 

Frigid. 

Ice.

_ Arctic _ . 

I stood up, fast. Face-to-face. Her nose brushed mine, and I grabbed her by the back of her head and pulled her in. I kissed her, hard. Hungrily. Heatedly. Her lips were soft, much softer than I thought they would be. And almost, almost warm. And when she finally kissed me back, my eyes immediately and instinctively closed.

My lips parted, and she wasted no opportunity and a smooth, slick tongue slid into my mouth and between my teeth. She tasted me as I tasted her, and the feeling of her probing into my mouth made me moan. 

I had never been kissed before. Had never kissed anyone before. But  _ this _ — I never would have imagined it to be like this. Every nerve ending seemed like it was being electrocuted, all my synapses were firing. It seemed like everything was happening too slow, and yet too fast. 

She was…  _ god _ , she was  _ sublime. _

And she was kissing the air from my lungs. Did she need to breathe? She made me feel like I didn’t. Like I never had to, just as long as she would keep kissing me. 

And then— she pulled away. Her beautiful green eyes were dark, darker than I have ever seen them. Stormy. Focused. Gorgeous. They took away what little breath I had left. And when I finally got it back, I swallowed thickly, and softly said, “thank you, Lena. I love you.”

Lena’s eyes flashed at my words. And then her lips were on my cheek. Her lipstick was smudged. She felt soft, so, so soft— for once, and I wanted her to hold me. And kiss me. Again. And again. 

And then suddenly Lena pulled back, fully, my hand falling back to my side. Her face was unreadable. Not cold. Not warm. Her face was pale, as always, and her lips were  _ right there _ . But, when I moved forward, she stepped back. And I felt a stabbing pain in my chest.

“Lena?” I asked, brows furrowed in confusion. I didn’t understand it. Why was she moving back? I did it. I was doing my part of the bargain: Love.  _ I love her.  _ And I kissed her, and she kissed me back. 

_ “Mo chuisle,”  _ she exhaled, her hands encircling my wrists. “You have had a lot happen. A lot. And you are overwhelmed and overtaken—”

“No,” I quickly cut in, remembering the taste of her lips. “No, no, Lena. What are you trying to say? No.  _ No _ , don’t say it.”

Her gaze softened, one would think she almost cared—  _ I  _ would think she almost cared. I tried to pull myself out of her hold, but she was too strong. “Kara,” she gently attempted, but I didn’t want to hear it.

“You need to think about it more, for longe—” 

“Why do you care?” I bit out, my tone bitter. “You are a vampire— a  _ murderer _ . You’ve killed god knows how many people. But this, me, you won’t just accept? Won’t just take? Why hesitate about this? About me—”

“— because it is  _ you. _ ” Lena growled as she pulled me flush against her and buried her face into my neck, her lips pressed firmly against my carotid. Her mouth opened, and as she spoke, her teeth, sharp and deadly, grazed my skin, sending shivers up and down my whole body. 

“And I  _ want  _ you. I do. I want you to love me— but I want you to  _ mean  _ it too. To truly feel it. Because you make  _ me  _ feel, and I have not felt anything in a really, really long time.” I wanted to hold her, wrap my arms around her. But she had me trapped, unable to move. 

“The notes, the brightness, the light you are. I never missed the sun, but it doesn’t matter,” she kissed my skin. “Because you are brighter than any star,  _ mo chuisle.”  _

Her breath was as cool as her touch. Her scent was intoxicating, and the  _ feel  _ of her against me was perfect. I could stay like this forever. But in just a moment, she pulled away again. And I sighed deeply at the loss. 

“You must think, Kara,” she then said, her verdant gaze reverting back to their usual coolness. “And I must go.” Her hands released my wrists, and I sighed again. I didn’t want her to go, didn’t want her to leave me. Didn’t want her to feel like she had to… but she was right.

So I watched as she then turned around and fluidly jumped out of the window. 

_ Lena… _

I reached up to touch my lips, inscribing into my memory exactly how she felt against me.

_ Please don’t go. _

—

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading this update as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> — How would you have planned those four’s deaths? I think VampireLena did a pretty good job. I mean, Kara is certainly impressed.
> 
> — And ohh, VampireLena obviously has a soft spot for HumanKara— who is now finaaallly trying to fulfill her part of the bargain. 
> 
> — Also. Please don’t judge me on my Valedictorian speech. I had to really work on that, and I hope it came out as engaging and empowering as I hoped it would. 
> 
> — Would any of you like to have a link to the spotify playlist I listen to when I write my Dark SuperCorps? Haha. It really gets me in the mood. 
> 
> Until tomorrow! 
> 
> Thank you all!


	3. 2.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! 
> 
> As promised, this is the second part of the second chapter. 
> 
> Once again, I am very thankful for all the kudos, bookmarks, and reviews— special thanks of course to these lovely people:   
> • QuiteTheScreamer  
> • lostpod  
> • McGeek_supercorp  
> • JerichoZoe  
> • 19forpresident  
> • Mlod  
> • IamDenny (Thank you for the song recommendation!)  
> • XFantasmagoriaX  
> • karlenaforever  
> • JBQ  
> • kshymcgra  
> • WhatTheEl 
> 
> Thank you for the wonderful reviews! They really inspire me and help me write!
> 
> Here’s the playlist I listen to: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6bpW73nf6xcKc26ah0OeVT?si=LBGwNHM3SuyE1H9aNpuehQ
> 
> If you can’t use the link, you can search for it on Spotify: She Learned To Deal WT Devil
> 
> It is also collaborative— so if you have a song that you think will match the theme, go ahead and add it!
> 
> Thank you for your words and kindness! I hope you will enjoy this update— and a warning, as usual, this part will take a darker turn, so, delicious humans:
> 
> Enter at your own risk.
> 
> And enjoy!
> 
> Trigger warning and general warning for murder, rape, suicide, angst, dark/sexual fantasies, sex, graphic descriptions, violence, and altogether just a whole lot of dark themes.

I did not see Lena again, for awhile. For another long, long time. Days stretched into weeks, weeks stretched into months, and months— well, they stretched into years. It made me wonder if, to one that lived as long as her, time was irrelevant. A month could be a minute, and a year could be a day.

Not that it mattered, for I still counted every second.

—

My notes still disappeared.

And this time, I received answers. Longer answers, well-thought out answers. Sometimes, stories even. Truth be told, we no longer exchanged notes, but actual letters. The sun didn’t burn her, but she was sensitive to it, and prolonged exposure caused her to turn red and blister. Which was how she was able to come to my graduation, all covered up but present. 

And no, she didn’t sparkle. Definitely not. Twilight had gotten  _ that  _ completely wrong. And garlic didn’t hurt her, the strong smell just wasn’t kind to the very sensitive senses of a vampire. Silver was not her undoing as well, and of course, a stake through the heart would kill her.

**_It would kill anyone_ ** _ —  _ she had written in her letter, the words dripping with sarcasm. It made me laugh. 

And then, she started asking me questions too. What  _ my  _ favorite color was: green (though I would never admit why, and her smug  _ ‘How interesting…’  _ implied that she had quite an educated guess as to what my reason was). What I liked to do during my free time: read, work-out, listen to music, cook, and eat. What kind of music I listen to: 90s boy bands like N’Sync (I could almost imagine her rolling her eyes at that), pop, jazz, and a lot of blues (that, I felt she would appreciate). 

The back and forth was constant, still about once a week. Even when I started going to college for journalism and then finally moved to my own apartment at the age of 20. Mom was very supportive, and father— well, he was willing to support me to make up for how he had neglected me and then ignored me when I had tried to fight for Nicole and Brandi. He never admitted his mistake, but he conceded to me more when I asked for things— like my own apartment. 

It was a bit manipulative, but I had learned that to reach my goal of finding and exposing the truth, it took a certain darkness to get things done. As Lena had shown me, all those years ago. And so now I had no qualms in using whatever weapon I had in my arsenal to get what I needed, to be relentless. Some would probably find a few of my methods unethical, but I would describe them as  _ effective _ . 

I got results. Good results. And with Lena and Sam’s help, I had been able to untraceably expose a few more wrongdoings that were going on in National City. The outrageous embezzlement from the local bank (that he worked at) by the formerly well-respected Hank Henshaw, and also all the money he swindled from trusting retirees and investors. 

The release of the untested nano-technology by Spheerical Industries, headed by Jack Spheer. The scandalous sexual exploitations by Jonathan Olsen of his young interns (the apple apparently didn’t fall far from the tree. I made sure to research and validate that one quite thoroughly before happily crucifying James’ father to the wall). And so much more. 

My methods were effective, and I was getting results. I felt both empowered and invincible. Though I knew that it wasn’t true. Everyone was vulnerable. Even me. Even Lena. Even Sam (who was apparently not a vampire, but a werewolf. I had found this out since we had been spending more time together, since Lena had started sending her as a go-between for when we would have plans for an exposure. Lena maintained her distance still, and I did my best to respect it, though I… missed her, quite terribly). 

So I wanted to make sure to try to keep the people around me as safe as possible. Even Lena. Even Sam. Who felt they needed no protection. And this was the best way for me to do it, by finding the truth. And it was in the process of me continuing to keep both eyes and ears out to strain for information, that I heard about him. 

_ The Co-Ed Butcher.  _

—

He was a serial killer, and he targeted young, new students at National City University. His preference were tall, slender women with dark-hair and dark-colored eyes with light skin who came from smaller towns. He had allegedly stalked, raped, and killed a number of four in the span of a year by the time I heard about him, and it sounded like he was not stopping any time soon. The families had apparently reported the disappearances of the women to the police, but they had labeled them as runaways (overwhelmed and swept away by the big city) and didn’t search for them until the bodies started turning up, and even then— they remained unenergized in their search, as if this was not their problem or responsibility.

It was despicable, and I was both outraged and intrigued. So I started to investigate. I talked to the families, the friends, the roommates— I asked about their usual spots or haunts and staked them out. I searched for similarities between them and started connecting dot after dot after dot. The girls were lovers of Broadway and plays, and they were all students in the Fine Arts department. They all also regularly went to the local theater that would present their own performances and a couple of them even acted in a few of the plays. The first two. 

It made me think. It made me think that perhaps the perpetrator was a part of that local theater, that they met their targets during one of those many rehearsals or presentations and had become obsessed. And after killing two involved in the productions, decided that it would be best to branch a bit further out, but was unable to do so and settled instead for targets that at least weren’t in the plays. 

What was it that Hannibal Lecter told Clarice Starling? 

_ He covets. That is his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? _

_ Do we seek out things to covet? _

_ No, we begin by coveting what we see every day. _

We begin by coveting what we see every day. The first victim was a woman named Terri Romano. She had played the role of Juliet (from  _ Romeo and Juliet _ ) for a whole of three months and then then the role of Miranda (from  _ The Tempest _ ) for three more months before being savagely attacked, raped, and then gutted in a dark alley way that she regularly walked through from the theater back to her apartment. 

I talked to the owner of the place and went through all the records of the ticket sales, trying to find a repeated name. One that would have bought tickets to all showings of Terri Romano’s plays. Only one name popped up consistently. And when I perused the list of ticket-buyers for the play that the second victim acted in, I found the same name.

And it was not one that I would have expected. 

—

_ Siobhan Smythe.  _

She was a pretty woman, reasonably attractive with an average height and build. Many would not have been able to imagine the intense hatred boiling inside her, but I could. Easily. I had been watching for a while now, tracking her movements. She worked as the assistant of the renowned Cat Grant of the CatCo Worldwide Media (who was very well-known to be a very demanding and hard-to-please boss. Arrogant, crude, snarky, and obnoxious).

And she lived with her older sister who was tall, statuesque, and beautiful, with long, dark hair and dark colored eyes who worked as the female news anchor for the evening news. After a couple of weeks of surveillance, I had learned that the popular news anchor was not as…  _ agreeable  _ and nice as her screen persona would lead you to believe. No. The screaming that one could hear all the way out to the streets, easily tore away that idea. With words like  _ useless _ , _ disgusting _ ,  _ sycophantic _ ,  _ freeloader _ , and more being flung with caustic accusation. 

Their parents had died in a tragic car accident and Sophie Smythe (the older sister by eight years) had to support the two of them at the age of 19. I could only imagine how hard it was to take care of an eleven year old girl while you yourself were just getting used to being an adult yourself. It must have been frustrating, angering, and stressful. And it seemed as if that frustration and anger found their way leaking out of her by being poured like acid onto the younger and more impressionable Siobhan Smythe. 

She graduated highschool without much trouble and had started college in the pursuit of a degree in Fine Arts in the National City University, but she switched schools and majors only a few weeks later, this time to the local community college and taking up business administration, a more logical choice, a certain older sister might insist. Especially since she was the one funding Siobhan’s education. 

The younger Smythe graduated with honors and immediately got a job at CatCo, where she worked her way up to becoming Cat Grant’s executive assistant and personal pin cushion. Another major source of stress and frustration for Siobhan. And the only thing that kept her somewhat sane was her sustained love for the theater, a love that her deceased mother (who had been an actress in several plays and a few movies before getting married and deciding to stay home and raise the children) had planted and encouraged in her. 

Siobhan had previously joined the local theater group and had auditioned for a part— Juliet of  _ Romeo and Juliet.  _ The same play that Terri Romano (who bore a strange and striking resemblance to Sophie Smythe) had starred in. The play and role that the murdered woman had ripped out of Siobhan’s desperate hands. The play that I now knew caused her death. 

Siobhan Smythe was  _ The Co-Ed Butcher.  _ And she was slowly unraveling, as I could tell from her narrowing timeline and sloppier attacks. She would soon kill somebody again, unless she was stopped. And I would be the one to do it. And not only that, but I would have an advantage.

Because Siobhan may not know it yet, but her new victim was going to be wearing a wig. And not only that, but this one, was ready.

_ So come on Butcher, and let’s see what you can do. _

— 

From what I have researched, Siobhan would incapacitate her victim with a blitz attack, usually going for a few solid hits to the back of the head. And once the victim was knocked out, she would penetrate them with something she brought with her (one of the big reasons why they assumed that the butcher was a man), and then neatly eviscerate them with three long, deep cuts along the abdomen. 

Planned, efficient, and depraved. Driven by jealousy and anger, of her sister, of young women who got to live out  _ her  _ dream of taking up Fine Arts, and whatever other twisted reasons her mind could come up with. Tonight was the first showing of  _ Macbeth  _ (how ironic), and I had gotten my hands on the ticket that would seat me right next to Siobhan. 

I had a very nice wig on, a pair of contact lenses, a satin lavallière blush blouse, a sleek pair of black slacks, and two-inch heels. Siobhan had arrived before me and was already gazing intently and wistfully at the stage by the time I sat down. 

“Great seats!” I enthused as I turned towards her. “My new roommate in NCU said that this is a really nice local theater and that they welcome newbies warmly!” I watched as her eyes flashed briefly, and then a smile was quickly plastered on her lips. 

“NCU?” She asked, a curious lift of her brow. “Really? I went there too! Are you in the Fine Arts program?” 

I ignored her heavy-handed attempt at gleaning information and nodded. “Yeah! Just getting started! I actually just moved here from Midvale too, and I cannot wait to see this play— it will tell me if I will want to join them or not.” I sent a playful wink her way and took note of the way her lips pressed into a thin line, and the way her knuckles turned white from how tightly she was holding her armrests. 

“Must be nice to have options,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, though she said her words through gritted teeth. And I pretended to just grin obliviously at her. “It really is! And I definitely want to play Juliet in their production if possible! My roomie told me that  _ Sophie Smythe,  _ you know, _ she  _ used to act here too during her NCU days. And she always, and I mean  _ always _ , got the role of Juliet.”

My eyes widened, unintentionally, as blood started to trickle from Siobhan’s mouth. She had but her lip so hard that she had caused herself to start bleeding. “Oh god,” I said as I handed her a couple of the napkins I had gotten after I got my bucket of popcorn. “Your mouth is bleeding!”

Siobhan, who apparently was completely unaware of what she did, started and quickly grabbed the napkins to dab at her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, lowly. “I have a bad habit of chewing on my lip when I’m… nervous.” More like angry. More like furious. I had viciously hit all her buttons. And now she was trying to not just directly glare at me, redirecting her gaze back to the stage instead. 

But I knew.

And she knew.

I was not going to be walking home by myself tonight.

—

I had already chosen my route nights before and now I walked it, taking my time. Siobhan did not talk to me at all throughout the play and then proceeded to ignore me when it was done. I pretended to shrug it off and left the theater, following the route and plan I had already established. I had put my gloves on and then plugged my earphones in and started humming, making myself look like the perfect victim (even though I didn’t play any music and could actually hear the deliberate footsteps behind me). 

_ Oh Siobhan, you’re making this too easy.  _

Halfway through Kemper Drive, I dropped my phone while I was looking at the time, the headphones going down with it. “Shit,” I said as I bent down to pick it up. Then, I heard the footsteps hurry behind me. Instinctively, I looked back and saw Siobhan taking the opportunity. Without another thought, I immediately sent a backwards kick that hit her right on her left kneecap. 

She gasped in pain and stumbled back. I dropped my purse on the ground next to my phone and stood up straight, turning to face my assailant fully. She had what looked to be an expandable baton in her right hand. The grim possibility that this was what she used to both attack and rape her victims flew threw my mind as she came at me again, a startled and wild look in her eyes. I dodged the first blow and quickly stepped in and caught her by the wrist with my left hand as she started her next swing, stopping her before she could put any momentum into it. 

Then, I used my free hand to grab her by the shoulder and push her back and to the side. As I did this, I slid my body forward and used my leg to sweep hers out from under her, quickly throwing her to the ground with a loud  _ thud.  _ Right before the impact, I promptly released her shoulder and moved that hand to the wrist I was already holding tight. Her eyes flashed, bright with worry and fear. 

Unable to stop myself, I smirked smugly down at her as I twisted her wrist hard, making her scream in pain and let go of the baton she was holding.  _ “Fuck!” _ She hollered as she pulled her hand out of my now loosened hold, her face twisted in agony.  _ “You crazy bitch! _ ” She spat at me as she cradled her injury to her chest, making me laugh at the ridiculous irony of it all. 

“Me? Crazy?” I asked, allowing a cold smile to play on my lips. “I’m not the one who goes around following and attacking unsuspecting girls.” Her face scrunched into a look of pure hatred at my words, and she quickly tried to grab my leg with her uninjured arm. Unfazed, I easily shook off her pathetic attempt and stomped  _ hard  _ on her shoulder, planting my foot deep against the joint. 

She screamed again, her look of hatred morphing into one of fear. I bore down on her, putting more of my weight onto that foot, making her squirm and grab at my ankle. “Do you think this is how they felt?” I asked her, my tone light and even. “All those women you murdered? Do you think this is how they felt in their last moments? Terrified? Of scum like you.” 

She was starting to just whimper now, defeated, and I carefully searched within myself— for compassion, sympathy, pity— anything that would push me to stop what I was doing. But I found nothing. I  _ felt _ nothing other than an obligation to continue to hurt her, end her. As she did so many others. I could kill her here, right now. And they wouldn’t be able to trace it back to me. It would be so easy to just clean up after the act. 

“Please,” she suddenly said, looking up at me, eyes now wide and tearful. “Please let me go, please. Please. I won’t do it anymore, I promise.  _ Please.”  _ Her pleading only made me want to hurt her more. If any of her victims had been awake, they would have done the same, begged and pleaded just for this  _ animal _ to ignore them. And a promise?  _ Ha!  _ It would be impossible for her. The need she had was irrepressible and uncontrollable, if I let her go, she would kill another. Or more. Much more.

Looking down at her, I slowly lifted my foot. She sighed in relief, but it was short-lived. I pulled my leg back and kicked her straight across the face, knocking her out cold. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And woohp, there it is. 
> 
> What do you think of our little Butcher— Siobhan Smythe? I’m a big fan of true crime, so I hope that I wrote this part out well. 
> 
> \- Who doesn’t like a werewolf Sam Arias? So hot. If/when I write snapshots, do you all want scenes of her and Alex too? AgentReign for the win!  
> \- Anybody here a fan of Hannibal the Cannibal? Now there’s a truly beautiful psychopath.  
> \- I hope you all enjoyed the playlist— let me know what you think? 
> 
> Also. This is the second to the last chapter! We are so close! I hope you are all as excited as I am! Thank you so much for all of the support!


	4. 3 - The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everybody! 
> 
> Here we are now— the end of the road. The third chapter. The conclusion to the story of our enigmatic vampire Lena and our relentless human Kara.
> 
> Once again, I am very thankful for all the kudos (ESPECIALLY FOR REACHING 200! YAY!), bookmarks, and reviews— special thanks of course to these lovely people:  
> • QuiteTheScreamer  
> • lostpod  
> • McGeek_supercorp  
> • Mlod  
> • IamDenny  
> • XFantasmagoriaX  
> • WhatTheEl  
> • dnmann  
> • SaskiaKieranLuthor  
> • TheUnknownShadow  
> • Miniminx1992  
> Thank you for the wonderful reviews! They really inspire me and help me write! 
> 
> Now, a warning for you delicious humans:
> 
> Enter at your own risk.
> 
> And enjoy!
> 
> Trigger warning and general warning for murder, rape, suicide, angst, dark/sexual fantasies, sex, graphic descriptions, violence, and altogether just a whole lot of dark themes.
> 
> If any of you are interested, I was listening to two songs while writing this update:  
> • The first part: “Haunted.” By Beyoncé- the music video is a literal masterpiece.  
> • The second part: “Tell Me.” By Saoirse Ronan- you may recognize this from the finale of Killing Eve Season 3.

“Please,” she suddenly said, looking up at me, eyes now wide and tearful. “Please let me go, please. Please. I won’t do it anymore, I promise.  _ Please.”  _ Her pleading only made me want to hurt her more. If any of her victims had been awake, they would have done the same, begged and pleaded just for this  _ animal _ to ignore them. And a promise?  _ Ha!  _ It would be impossible for her. The need she had was irrepressible and uncontrollable, if I let her go, she would kill another. Or more. Much more.

Looking down at her, I slowly lifted my foot. She sighed in relief, but it was short-lived. I pulled my leg back and kicked her straight across the face, knocking her out cold. 

—

I gathered my things quickly after knocking Siobhan out and started walking down Kemper again. The wind seemed colder, and I almost wish I had brought a light jacket with me. My stride was long and measured, and it took four more blocks before the sound of my footsteps started getting matched. I had intentionally been walking on just one side of the streets I was going through, and was now being joined by the one I had expected—  _ hoped—  _ would come.

A step, two, more. We kept going, and I started to decrease the speed of my steps, gradually taking on a more leisurely pace. The familiar and delicate scent of jasmine and roses gently approached me, and I instinctively took in a deep breath.  _ Something hidden, something sharp.  _ As always. I couldn’t help myself anymore, I deliberately loped ahead of my companion and turned, wanting to see her, take her in.  _ Lena.  _ My sudden action made her stop in her tracks, and in result, so did I. 

Her eyes quickly met mine. And the sight of them—  _ those glowing green eyes _ — which always made me feel more secure and more safe, did as it usually did, and settled my heart and blanketed me in a soothing warmth that only she could bring upon me. 

I quietly reveled in what she made me feel as I took her in. Her hair was loose, falling in delicate waves around her aristocratic face, making her usually sharp features look softer. She had light make-up on, her cheeks brushed rosy, and her lips bare: silky and invitingly pink. She was dressed differently again too: no ironic shirt, no power suits, no button-ups.

What she had on instead was a forest green dress that brought attention to her eyes with the color and to her legs with the short cut. It clung to her curves and showed an enticing stretch of milky-white skin and defined collarbones. She was…  _ stunning _ , and it took a few more seconds before I could finally speak.

“Hi Lena,” I then said, the words coming out even, sure. 

Her eyes crinkled at the edges, the corners of her lips curved upwards in amusement. “Hi Kara,” she coyly replied, and for one second, I was transported back to the day we first met. Except she had not just drained a man of all his blood— or at least, not that I knew of. 

She tilted her head to the side, thoughtful and curious. “I did not think that you would just let her go.”

I easily returned her gaze, unwavering. “She’s not free,” I countered. “I have been working hard in the past few weeks: gathering evidence and putting them all together into a very incriminating and solid web that leads straight to her: The Co-Ed Butcher. The police are raiding her house and work place now. And when she shows up disheveled and with a broken wrist, they will be more  _ concerned  _ about their discoveries than her ‘victim’ of the night.” 

Lena slowly arched a noble brow, the curve to her lips deepening. She was impressed. “I see.”

I nodded my head and held up the little hidden camera that I had taken from Siobhan’s blouse. “She recorded them, you know? Those were her trophies, and she used this piece of tech to do it.” 

Lena watched as I dropped the camera to the ground and crushed it into the concrete with my shoe. “She’ll never be able to do it again.”

A moment. I took my foot off the camera to make sure it was destroyed and nodded again when I saw the unrecognizable bits and pieces. 

“Is that why you did this?” Lena suddenly asked, her tone deliberate and even.

I slowly raised my gaze back to hers, naturally drawn to her luminous green eyes. They searched my face, intently, as if looking for something— a hint, a tinge, a taste. I stood my ground and responded, “part of it. And I also had to find something out for myself.”

Lena carefully took in my words, testing each one for sincerity or deception. Then she took a small step forward, coming just a little bit closer, “and what did you find?” Her voice was now more muted, subdued, as if she was unsure about whether she wanted to hear my answer. It almost made her seem worried. Almost. But the underlying steel in her eyes reminded me who and  _ what _ exactly I was speaking to. 

“I have found that if they don’t prosecute her to the highest extent of the law or if they let her off completely, our next meeting will end quite, quite…  _ differently _ .” The promise in my voice was evident and irrevocable. Lena could not and would not be able to misunderstand it. If Siobhan was somehow able to escape prison (which would be a worse punishment than a quick death), then our next meeting would mirror the meetings Lena had had with James Olsen, Morgan Edge, Stacey Godsey, Don McQueen, the men that had kidnapped me years ago, and the many other countless people that she had—  _ led to the afterlife _ during her many years of existence. 

Siobhan Smythe— the Co-Ed Butcher— deserved to die. 

Lena’s viridian gaze, so vivid, so commanding, glowed with an even more striking intensity at my words, and I could not help but be bound by them. Those eyes—  _ those eyes —  _ that I saw in my dreams, in my sleep. In my mind. The eyes that were here now, anchored on me, devouring me through the sweeping line of her long lashes. I sighed, deeply. A breath that I felt like I had been holding for years. 

“ _ A chuisle mo chroi _ ,” I whispered, softly, knowing that she would recognize the words with no difficulty.  _ The pulse of my heart.  _ A version of what she had called me for years and years:  _ mo chuisle, my pulse.  _ My heartbeat. My heart. My blood. That which keeps a vampire alive and viable, as she once told me. “I do not think I have ever understood exactly how beautiful you are until now.” 

It was miniscule, almost imperceptible, the way her lips parted, the way her eyes widened. She was surprised. And with how her pupils dilated, I hoped she approved as well. “It seems like you have become better with your words.” 

Things change.  _ I have changed _ . I thought to myself as I smirked, slowly and deliberately. The years and my experiences have been kind to my confidence, and I knew now that I would finally be able to say the words that I have thought about for years and years, as she had asked. 

Now, I was certain. And always, it was inevitable. “I  _ am  _ studying Journalism.”

Lena laughed, a clear, beautiful, and captivating sound. And it easily coaxed the next words out of my mouth, “would you stay if I asked?”

She blinked, her eyes darkening. Luxurious. Calculating. And devastating. Her lips pressed together firmly into a tight line. “Would you ask?” She hedged, a vein of challenge in her voice. 

“I would beg,” I firmly confessed, unhesitant. “I don’t want you to go anymore. I do not want to live another day without you.” I walked forward, closer and closer, until I was standing right in front of her. I had gotten taller again since we last met, and I had to tilt my head down to meet her searching gaze. 

Her beauty was  _ profound _ . 

A long moment of silence passed. Then, carefully, I reached up and gently cupped one cold cheek, savoring the contrast in temperature and the smoothness of her ivory skin against my palm. Lena leaned gently into my touch, and I felt my heart stutter incoherently in my chest.  _ Wow.  _

_ Wow.  _

I am in love. 

“Please stay.”

_ — _

My hands carefully traced the graceful curve of Lena’s waist as I kissed the base of her neck. She had stayed. Had done as I asked and accompanied me home. Now, we were in my bed—  _ our bed—  _ her flawless, ivory body nestled in the middle as I curved over her, driven by a raw curiosity and sincere desire. I had never seen this much of her before, and I was  _ enthralled.  _

_ I was ruined _ . 

And Lena was enjoying every second of it, her gleaming green eyes radiant with delight and visceral want. She had wanted this, wanted me, for years, and here I was, finally—  _ willingly, happily, and eagerly _ — fulfilling my part of the bargain. It truly was inevitable. And I was just beginning.

I had taken off Lena’s dress and lacy, black panties before leading her to the bed, successfully suppressing the building need to just fling her onto it and just throw caution to the wind. I had waited for this for years— had wanted it for just as long. I wanted to savor it. Bask in it. I wanted to kiss every inch of skin, so pristine, so exquisite. The intoxicating scent of jasmine, roses, and blood permeated the air and my senses, and I hungrily breathed it in, wanting as much of her as I could have. 

_ “Mo chuisle,”  _ she breathed, her voice almost, almost soft. I felt her throat vibrate against my lips at her words and had the strangest desire to bite into her skin, dig myself into it. To taste her voice from her cords. To have even more of her. My eyes fluttered at the image, and I felt the growing heat between my legs pulse nearly uncomfortably.  _ Fuck. What has happened to me?  _

_ And god, do I love it so.  _

I ran my tongue down the graceful slope of her left collarbone and deliberately nipped at the soft flesh under it. She had not been wearing a bra. “Yes, my love?” I then asked before methodically indulging myself to the softest part of her that I found so far. Her breasts. Those two perfectly shaped mounds of plushness, topped with delicate nipples that were already half-peaked. I slowly started licking and kissing along her left breast, delineating a circular path to her nipple. Her right hand placed itself onto the back of my neck and firmly encouraged me. 

“I love you,” she fervently vowed, her fingers digging into my yielding flesh. The pressure was welcome, and I felt my chest tighten at the words I had longed to hear for so long. She loves me. She loves me.  _ She loves me. _

_ She loves me.  _

I felt my eyes water, quietly, my emotions far beyond my control. Not after that. Not after her admission of love. A tear, two, slid down my cheeks and onto her skin, and I reverently kissed them off her.  _ She loves me.  _ The taste of salt was on my lips, and I took her nipple in my mouth. She gasped, softly. It was a beautiful sound. It was a beautiful feeling, to have a creature, a woman: so strong, so fast, so gorgeous, and so smart lying before me and allowing me free reign of her. I slid my left hand up her body and firmly palmed her right breast.

Squeeze. Knead. Pinch. I rolled her nipple between my fingers as I sucked on the other one.  _ She loves me.  _ I bit into her skin, hard. Hard enough to leave a mark, but her skin remained whole, even as she gasped again. I was intrigued, I was turned on. How much force would I have to use to make her bruise? Make her bleed? Lena, as if reading my thoughts, laughed. So clear, so sharp. 

“Your human teeth can’t harm me, _ mo chuisle _ ,” she revealed, her tone teasing and provocative. “But once you become vampire, I would  _ love _ to see what you can do to me.” Her words made me bite her harder on her other nipple, and she squeezed my neck in response. Even if I didn’t—  _ couldn’t—  _ leave a mark, at least not yet, I was pleased that she could feel what I was doing to her. Or maybe even more so, a possibility with the enhanced vampiric senses she had told me about. 

With this thought in mind, I lavished her breasts with attention. I took them in my hands and firmly massaged them, took them in my mouth and sucked on them. Kissed. Swirled. Bit. Pinched. They were perfect. She was perfect.  _ She loves me.  _ But as much as I wanted to continue to play with them for hours, there was another part of her that I wanted to explore. 

—

I kissed my way down the taut muscles of her abdomen, making sure to nip here and there and to lick the depth of her navel. Her hand slid up my neck and now planted itself on the back of my head, her fingers buried in the strands of my hair— I had taken the wig off earlier. I moved my hands to her thighs and carefully parted them as I kissed the dip between her leg and groin. The heady scent of her arousal hit me, and I moaned softly at the deliciously lewd aroma. 

_ Fuck. _

_ She is so fucking sexy. _

I pulled back slightly and carefully took in the pink wetness of her pussy. Her lips were slick, a line of liquid dripping down and between her buttocks. She was wet,  _ fuck,  _ she was very wet. And the shy nub of her clit was starting to peek past its hood. I growled possessively at the sight. My love’s pussy. My love’s dripping wet pussy. I had planned to take my time, to savor every move, every second. But in the face of such temptation, such  _ perfection,  _ I felt my self-control crumble. 

“Eat me,  _ mo chuisle _ ,” and her words commanded my undoing. I settled myself between her legs and began to hungrily lap at her pussy, running my tongue up and down her luscious ambrosia. She was delicately sweet with a hint of salt, and she pressed my head down firmly against her as she grinded against my mouth. It was  _ divine.  _ Her hips were rhythmic and relentless, and I worked to match her almost frenzied pace. 

_ She loves me.  _

I slid two fingers in her and  _ god,  _ she was  _ warm  _ inside. The warmest part of her. It was addicting. I could be inside her forever. Her muscles clenched tightly around my digits and pulled them in, and I curled them firmly into her, digging into the textured, spongy patch of flesh along her front wall. She threw her head back and screamed, her whole body tensing and almost coming off the bed. 

I started a punishing pace and added a third finger, knowing that she could take it. That she  _ would  _ take it. That she would take as much as I could give— my Lena, my heart, my pulse. She trembled around my fingers, and I was in love. 

She was close, I could feel it. She was pulling on my hair, her nails grazing my scalp. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I wondered how much she was holding back, knowing that she could rip my whole body apart. And the thought only turned me on more…

_ “Yes, fuck, Kara! Yes!”  _ she suddenly screamed and moaned as she finally reached her peak, her whole body tightening and winding around me. Beautiful.  _ God, it was so beautiful.  _

And then I noticed that I was crying again, and Lena was sitting up and holding me. 

And carefully, gently— she kissed every single tear away. 

Because she loves me.

_ Because she loves me. _

—

_ A chuisle mo chroi— the pulse of my heart.  _

_ —  _

**_A month later:_ **

I had thought that living with Lena would take a lot of adjustments, but it didn’t. Not really. We were both used to having our own routine, but making time for each other took almost no effort, mainly because we prioritized it above anything else— I mean, we  _ had _ been hoping to do it for years now, so the transition was almost seamless. 

Almost. 

I didn’t take into account the fact that vampires don’t need sleep, and  _ I  _ love sleep. Lena doesn’t eat food, and  _ I  _ love food. She was not a fan of the sun (understandably), and I— well, I  _ loved _ the feel of the heat on my skin. But Lena, beautiful Lena, sharp Lena, Lena who could be gruesome and easily murder many in cold blood— was very considerate, and even sweet. 

She didn’t need sleep, but she would lay with me for hours, holding me and kissing me as I fell into slumber. She didn’t need food, but she would make sure that I always had something to eat. She would buy me takeout, get delivery, or even, surprisingly, cook. And when I asked her about it, she just shrugged gracefully and said, “Sam is not a vampire. She still eats and is absolutely hopeless in the kitchen and as expected, a werewolf’s appetite is voracious. So, I learned. And my enhanced senses of taste and smell are actually perfect for cooking.”

The fact both impressed and mildly—  _ just mildly—  _ irritated me. I mean, who wants to hear that their vampiric, non-food eating lover learned to cook to feed her best friend? But… well, seeing Lena in her  **_‘Bite the Cook,’_ ** apron made up for any negative feelings I initially had. Especially since I found out that Sam was not single and was actually married to another vampire named Alex. I had yet to meet her, but Lena said it was only because Alex was very busy doing  _ hush-hush  _ missions for a certain clandestine governmental organization. Apparently, the presence of vampires was not as well-hidden or rare as I thought.

And who would have thought that I, Kara Danvers, would be saved by one. Cared for by one. And loved by one— a fact that still made me smile as I sat on the bar stool next to the kitchen island, dreamily watching Lena as she masterfully sliced and diced the vegetables for an obscure dish she learned during one of her travels to Tibet.

She was everything, and she was mine. 

Forever.

—

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. 
> 
> There it is. Our babies are finally together! Thank you everybody for the support! And the love! I hope you like this ending— please let me know? 
> 
> And also. Keep an eye out for an epilogue or snapshots of sorts of our lovely couple! Of their lives together— 
> 
> Let me know if you’d like to see snaps of WerewolfSam and VampireAlex too! 
> 
> And already thinking about a possible update of our HumanKara’s turning— we’ll see. 
> 
> — KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THE NEXT ADDITION TO MY DARK SUPERCORP SERIES— the next one is going to be very… 
> 
> Consuming.
> 
> Thank you, once more, and see you again soon!


	5. Snapshot 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! 
> 
> It has been a rough few weeks for me— so instead of writing a new addition to my Dark SupeCorp series, I have instead written a little snapshot of Kara and Lena’s domestic and erotic life together—
> 
> I am also now currently working on the update that will be about our beloved HumanKara’s turning (finally got struck with inspiration!) and will be posting that next (hopefully!).
> 
> Until then, please enjoy this little hors d’oeuvres, until your next filling and sinfully delightful meal ♥️
> 
> 🔺
> 
> Important Question: Do you cool cats and kitties want more explorations of Kara’s sleuthing and detecting skills? I love true crime and am considering writing more plot-driven chapters for this story than just snaphots or scenes. Like, do you want more of her solving murders and confronting the perpetrators? Please let me know! 
> 
> —
> 
> Once again, I am very thankful for all the kudos (especially for reaching 300!), bookmarks, and reviews— special thanks of course to these lovely people:   
> • QuiteTheScreamer  
> • emwil  
> • coatsandboots  
> • XFantasmagoriaX  
> • JBQ  
> • JAWilder  
> • dnmann  
> • AxElDanvers  
> • WhatTheEl  
> • Marcy_bolger1  
> • lostpod  
> • McGeek_supercorp  
> • oryginalayo  
> • GiselleBrito  
> • gaeaX  
> Thank you for the wonderful reviews! They really inspire me and help me write!
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this update— and a warning, as usual, delicious humans:
> 
> Enter at your own risk.
> 
> And enjoy!
> 
> Still from Kara’s POV.
> 
> Trigger warning and general warning for murder, rape, suicide, angst, dark/sexual fantasies, sex, graphic descriptions, violence, and altogether just a whole lot of dark themes.

“No.”

“Yes.”

_ “No.” _

“Okay. Yes.”

“What?” I asked, raising a brow in challenge. 

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” Lena countered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. 

“You can’t just say  _ okay,  _ but then still disagree with me.” I pointed out as I waved my hands in the air in frustration. Lena quickly cut her gaze away, rolling her beautiful eyes and making me scowl. 

“Okay, but I can,” she then said, intentionally trying to agitate me as her chilling gaze met mine once more. I released a long-suffering sigh as I reached up to gently massage my temple, the beginning of an awful headache blooming behind my eyes. 

“No, you  _ can’t, _ ” I hissed back as I narrowed my eyes at her, unable to believe that we were even having such a conversation. 

“... honestly, I’d hate to interrupt such a riveting argument, but can we just go ahead and watch the movie?” the smooth and placating voice of Sam sounded from the living room as she appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a large bowl of buttery popcorn in her arms. 

“Not until Lena admits that  _ The Hunchback of Notre Dame _ is  _ not  _ the best Disney movie. I mean, come on— the sensational and stunning masterpiece that is  _ Moana _ trumps that movie easily!” I argued, emphasizing my words with my hands. “Or even the more classic and dynamic  _ The Lion King?  _ Who— in this whole world hasn’t heard the song  _ Can You Feel The Love Tonight?” _

At my question, Lena arched a perfectly-shaped brow and coolly replied, “where do I even start? Monks in Nepal? Shaolin practitioners in Henan? The Sentinelese in the bay of Bengal? The Awá people that live in the Amazon rainforest? Truly,  _ mo chuisle,  _ I can keep going.”

“Don’t,” I sarcastically bit out, making Lena cast quite a smug grin at me. 

_ “The Hunchback of Notre Dame  _ is not merely a timeless and cinematic masterpiece, but it is also the most heart-wrenching and risky movie Disney has ever made. It is gothic, bold, violent, and  _ filled  _ with the most exquisite imagery— also, have you even  _ seen  _ Esmeralda? She is the quintessential gay-wakening of multitudes of young girls. That woman had a whole song dedicated to just exactly how she stoked the flames of sexual lust—  _ Hellfire!  _ Paris burned because of her!” 

Lena’s tone had turned heated where it was usually cool and collected, and I couldn’t help but narrow my eyes at her even more. Her glowing gaze, wide and impassioned, only made me frown harder. 

After a long moment of silence, when she realized I had no plans of a rebuttal, the look on her face turned into one of curiosity.  _ “Mo chuisle,  _ darling. Are you okay?” she asked, her iridescent eyes quietly assessing my face. 

I tried to hold my tongue, but unable to stop myself, I caustically accused, “Esmeralda, huh?” Then, without another word, I turned away from her and started walking to the living room. 

_ Whatever. _

_ Esmeralda, pfft. _

_ She wasn’t even that hot— gah, I can’t believe this. _

Sam knowingly stepped out of my way and handed me the popcorn as I was walking by her.  _ Bless her,  _ I thought to myself as I took a handful and shoved it in my mouth. Then, I planted myself on the love seat, making sure to lay sideways and take up all the space. 

“What— what did I say?” I heard Lena ask from the kitchen, making Sam snort in amusement. 

I picked up the remote with my not-buttery hand and pressed play on it,  _ The Little Mermaid  _ on the screen. Then I started digging into the popcorn again as I heard hushed whispers from the kitchen.

_ Pfft.  _

I finished another handful of popcorn.

_ Esmeralda my ass-maralda. _

—

Lena had told me that she was turned when she was 24 years old, and I wanted to be turned at the same time, unless an unexpected and extraneous situation required otherwise— of course. When I told her this, my love merely nodded and kissed me, her lips gentle yet insatiable still. 

“Of course,  _ mo chuisle _ ,” she then said, her eyes glowing and bold. And before I knew it, she was picking me up, bridal-style, and then carrying me to the bed. 

“Now,” she kissed into my skin before effortlessly throwing me onto the bed, “how about we test your human limits of pain?”

— 

I never knew the true sincerity of lust until I saw Lena in a full Dominatrix outfit. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. She had on a tight, underbust corset that allowed her beautiful breasts to be proudly displayed. Her slender, porcelain legs were hugged by intricately designed stockings, and they led to a pair of genuine leather, high-heeled boots. And she was—  _ damn,  _ she was  _ hot.  _

There was no other way to put it. And when she pushed me on all fours on the edge of the bed and started hitting my ass with a crop, I felt a flood of arousal that I did not expect but fully welcomed. Soon enough, she had me moaning and whimpering and begging for her to fuck me,  _ please. Please, yes, Daddy. Oh fuck me, please!  _ And in pity or mercy, she finally gave in to my wanton pleas. She took the crop, flipped it, and then shoved its handle into my pussy, burying it at least four inches deep in me with the first thrust.

I had been surprised and a bit uncomfortable at first. But soon enough, my lust overcame my reason and my sensibilities, and I was needily pushing back on the handle that was probably the width of two tapered fingers. Lena started a teasing and terribly frustrating pace, her strong hand on my ass and forcibly stopping me from fucking myself deeper than just the length she allowed me. 

It was so lewd. So raw. So humiliating— and I loved every second of it. 

Lena pressed the handle into me in a downward angle, making its curved end drag against the sensitive patch of ridged flesh along my front wall. And the new sensation made me moan and sputter out the most wanton of words:  _ fuck. Yes. Harder, Daddy. Fuck your dirty little slut. I need it. I need you. Make me cum, Daddy, please. Please!  _ My mistress luxuriated in my need and my lust as I almost sobbed in desperation. 

Suddenly, the crop was pulled out of me, and my ass was then treated to several hard spanks that stung and felt so deliciously painful. I could not help but gasp with each hard impact, her palm cold and solid. Then Lena’s strong hands firmly grabbed my hips to steady me and the loss of the crop’s handle was finally replaced by the thick and filling shaft of her cock (strap-on)— and I almost cried at the  _ sublime  _ stretch it forced onto me, my pussy straining to accept every inch of her merciless length. 

_ Fuck.  _

My lover was relentless, her body curving over me and possessing me, claiming every stitch of flesh I had as she plowed into me— clawing out of my shaking and thoroughly ruined body, the first of many rapturous orgasms. 

_ It was excruciatingly exquisite.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So—
> 
> I know in most of the fanfics out there (and in my stories as well) that Kara is definitely Top and Daddy and Lena is bottom and baby, so I really wanted to try switching the roles and seeing if I can write it in a way that is both natural and wickedly sexy— so I hope I did well on that.
> 
> And seriously, who DIDN’T have a crush on Esmeralda?
> 
> Also. The Hunchback of Notre Dame truly is one of my most favorite Disney movies! What about you!?
> 
> I am also currently working on something new and different and hope to post it soon, so keep an eye out for that too!
> 
> —
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this update!
> 
> And I hope to see you all again soon!
> 
> Until then, stay safe. Stay healthy!

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a three-shot, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will keep an eye out for the next two. Please let me know what you think! And if you have any dark story prompts, please share them— I really want to write more dark-themed shots! 
> 
> Also, I’m still working on writing from first person POV, so please let me know how I’m doing! 
> 
> —
> 
> P.S. For more dark SuperCorp goodness: check out my other Dark SuperCorp AU works:  
> \- She Had My Wife’s Eyes.  
> \- She Can Hold Her Poison.
> 
> P.P.S. Judge me all you want, I feel like Vampire Lena would find shirts like that funny. Other options were:  
> • I’m not allergic to garlic, I’m just a vampire.  
> • Love bites, and so do I.  
> • Severely allergic to the sun.  
> • Buffy tried to slay me.  
> • My type? B-positive.  
> • Bat to the Bone.
> 
> Thank you.


End file.
